by Lou Kuenzler
A little smile flickered across her face. I wished I wasn’t meeting my all-time hero dressed in a fishy mermaid suit – but at least I had her attention.
“It’s my friend Mo,” I said, waddling forward. “She runs a café.” My heart was beating so fast it felt as if a herd of buffalo were stampeding inside my chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see a man with a television camera making his way through the crowd.
“A café? That’s nice,” Stella Lightfoot smiled, but she was already turning away again.
“It – it’s like you always say on your show, about … about dreams,” I stuttered. My voice wasn’t loud and clear any more. It had gone all and . But I had to make Stella understand. I waved my hands, smiling at Nisha and hoping she would join in.
we both said. But it wasn’t just Nisha who helped me out.
“Gosh,” Stella smiled. “I see I’ve got a lot of fans here.” There was a flash of tiny lights like as everybody held up cameras or mobile phones and snapped a picture.
“What’s your name, Little Miss Mermaid?” Stella asked.
The crowd laughed.
“I’m Violet,” I said. “I – I don’t even like mermaids. Not really. I’m more of a … of an adventure kind of person.” I pointed helplessly at Stella’s T-shirt. “I love sharks. They’re amazing.”
“Well, Violet,” said Stella. “If you like adventure, I guess you must be a pretty big fan of my show?”
“” I gulped and the crowd cheered. “I completely and utterly, absolutely, totally it.”
“Tell you what then,” winked Stella. “I’ll sign your tail.”
Before I even realized what was happening, she clicked her fingers. A woman in a baseball cap with a long blonde ponytail just like Stella’s handed her a thick black felt-tip pen.
“There you are, Stella,” the woman mumbled from underneath her cap. It was almost as if she was trying to hide her face. She was also wearing dark glasses – although maybe that was just because it was such a sunny day.
“Thanks,” said Stella, bending down. She pulled the lid off the pen with her teeth and her name across the bottom of my rubber tail.
S. Lightfoot x
“Don’t let the sharks nibble that, Little Mermaid,” she joked, turning back towards the car.
“Wait!” I cried. “I haven’t told you about Mo and her café. I haven’t explained why we need your help—”
“Send me a letter.” Stella tossed the felt-tip pen back to the woman with the ponytail and dark glasses. “You’ll find a fan mail address on my website.”
She was already bending her knee to climb into the limousine.
“I have to go,” she said, waving to the crowd as the driver stepped between us. “I’m going to find somewhere nearby to pitch my tent for the night. Then I’ll head to the airport in the morning. I’m off on safari tomorrow.”
“Good luck! Don’t get eaten by a lion,” called a lady standing near the bookshop. Everyone laughed and cheered. The man with the telly camera ran forward with a big microphone (it looked a bit like my dog Chip).
“Cheerio,” said Stella, smiling into the camera.
I grabbed at the open limo door.
“But I wrote to you once before,” I said. “About hedgehogs. You didn’t reply.”
“Hedgehogs?” Stella smiled. “I love hedgehogs. Your letter must have got lost. Write to me again. I want to hear all about your prickly problem.” She laughed with a sound like a teaspoon hitting a glass.
“But this isn’t about hedgehogs. Not this time,” I said as Stella stepped into the limousine and it swallowed her up. “It’s about Mo. You have to listen,” I begged as the car started. “I need your help. We have to save ”
My words were lost in the roar of the engine as the limousine pulled away.
cried Stella from the open window.
The crowd cheered.
She was gone.
As soon as Nisha’s mum dropped me home, I sped past Dad in the doorway and to change out of my mermaid suit before Mum could ask any questions about where I had left my new shorts.
Then I spread my felt-tip pens on the coffee table and started to make a Save Udderly Perfect poster. My meeting with Stella Lightfoot had not gone at all as I had hoped. But I refused to give up. Even if I had to march round town in an inflatable cow suit handing out leaflets to keep the café open, I would.
Nisha and I had agreed we’d both make a poster. Hers would be amazing, of course, because she’s really artistic. My drawing of a cow looked more like a spotty hippopotamus. I just was wondering whether adding a big pink would help, when Dad leapt off the sofa.
“Violet, look!”
I almost jumped out of my skin.
“It’s you,” he cried, waving the TV remote in the air. “You’re on the local news.”
He clicked the telly on to pause. The picture was … and there I was, standing in the middle of the screen right next to Stella Lightfoot. I was dressed as a giant mermaid, of course.
“Josie, come and see. You’re not going to believe this,” hollered Dad, calling Mum through from the kitchen.
“Gracious,” gulped Mum, seeing me on the screen.
“This is so embarrassing!” flushed Tiff, who was back from babysitting. “What if any of my friends see you?”
“Shh!” said Dad. “I’ll rewind it and we can record as we view.” Dad is about gadgets and it was hard to tell if he was more excited that his youngest daughter was on the news or that he got to show off the wonders of his new TV.
“Spot on!” he whooped, throwing his arms in the air as if he were a footballer scoring a goal. All he had done really was rewind the news to the exact point when they started talking about me.
“And finally,” smiled the reporter in the studio, “we’ll leave you with pictures of the celebrity adventurer – the star of – Stella Lightfoot, on a visit to Swanchester earlier today…”
They cut to a picture of the high street. There I was, standing beside the limousine. The man with the television camera must have filmed us. You could see Stella Lightfoot taking the pen from the secretive-looking woman with the ponytail and dark glasses. Then she walked towards me, signed my tail and smiled her famous Stella Lightfoot smile.
“That’s one local girl who certainly made a ” chuckled the newsreader. “Now for the weather…”
That was it. Half a second of me dressed as a mermaid and it was over. If only the cameraman had interviewed me – I could have told him about the campaign to save Mo’s cafe. That was exactly the sort of publicity we needed.
Even so, I couldn’t help smiling … I had got to meet Stella Lightfoot in actual real life. And she had signed my mermaid tail. I’d write to her tomorrow and beg her to help us. Perhaps I could even call the news station and tell them all about myself.
“I am totally, totally ,” I grinned.
“Yes. For being dressed like a fish,” sighed Tiff. She had been in a foul mood ever since she’d got home. Probably because Rosie’s mum had given her the sack. She’d exploded – like a bomb, Tiff told us – saying she was a terrible babysitter for not noticing that Rosie was cutting her hair.
Tiff sank into an armchair, turning her back on the TV.
“I can’t believe it,” chuckled Dad, rewinding and again on the picture of me and Stella.
“What I can’t believe is why Violet’s dressed up in that strange costume,” said Mum, pointing at the screen. “What happened to your new shorts? The pair you pestered me to buy because Stella Lightfoot wears the same ones?”
Mum turned and folded her arms. “And what possessed you to cut your hair?” she asked. “At least Rosie has an excuse. She’s only little. What have you got to say for yourself?”
“Erm…”
Like a fire engine coming to the rescue of a burning building, I heard the phone ringing in the hall.
“Don’t think I’ve finished with you, young lady,” Mum warned as she ran to answer it.
&nbs
p; “Great,” I mumbled under my breath. Today had been a total disaster. I had managed to lose a brand-new pair of shorts, have a really bad haircut and close down Mo’s café. That was a record, even for me.
I have to find a way to put things right, I thought, leaning forward and staring at the picture of Stella Lightfoot frozen on the TV.
While Mum was talking on the phone in the hall, Tiffany’s mobile started to beep too.
“This is so embarrassing,” she moaned, reading her texts. “Everyone has seen you on telly.”
“I didn’t know your friends watched the news – I thought they were too busy checking their lipstick,” I giggled, peering over her shoulder.
Ur little sis so cute , said one message.
V adorable , said a text from Monique.
Gr8 mermaid suit.
Meeting Stella L! Respect!
“See. Told you I was totally famous,” I smiled, punching Tiff on the arm.
Mum came back into the room. She was smiling too, as if she had forgotten about the lost shorts – at least for the moment. “That was Gran – she was calling on her new mobile phone, can you believe it?”
“Gran with a mobile,” snorted Tiffany. “That’s hilarious.”
“Her number is easy to remember,” said Mum. “It’s just 077, then your birthday, Tiffany, followed by Violet’s.”
“What make of phone did she get?” asked Dad.
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask,” said Mum, raising her eyebrows. “Everyone at the Sunset Retirement Centre saw you on telly, Violet. Gran says to tell you Cora and Dora, Mr Gupta and Nurse Bridget all thought you were totally … although I’m sure that’s not actually the word they used.”
“I bet it was,” I said. I love the old people at the retirement centre where Gran lives. Ever since I helped solve a string of mysterious robberies that happened there (that was my first ever real shrinking adventure) they always say I’m their visitor.
“I’ve asked Gran to come over and look after you tomorrow,” said Mum.
“Now that really is awesome,” I grinned. I could get Gran help me write a letter to Stella. She could sign the petition to save . She’d get all the other old people involved too.
“She’s going to watch you while I’m at work,” said Mum. “I’m not sure I trust Tiffany to babysit after what happened with Rosie.”
“I’m meeting Monique anyway,” huffed Tiff.
“Gran says she’s looking forward to a mini adventure or two,” said Mum, shrugging her shoulders. “I don’t know what she meant by that.”
“Good old Gran,” I said. I knew at once she was thinking about shrinking. She’s the only one who really knows how exciting it can be.
“Whatever else you get up to, I’ve told Gran she has to take you into town to get a proper haircut,” sniffed Mum.
Next morning Gran arrived clutching the local paper.
said the headline. Swanchester Girl Makes Waves.
“Great outfit!” chuckled Gran, waving the picture under my nose and pointing to my tail. “I’m disappointed you’re not wearing it today. We could have gone for a swim.”
“Very funny,” I said as I led Gran through to the kitchen.
I was actually wearing a which Mum had laid out for me this morning. Since I had lost my shorts, I wasn’t going to argue with what she wanted me to wear.
Gran was dressed in a pair of sequined sparkly trousers and a T-shirt with a bright orange starfish on the front.
“You look a bit like a mermaid yourself,” I teased. Gran always wears bright, crazy outfits that make me want to smile. She had a big stripy handbag too.
She opened it on the kitchen table and pulled out a packet of her favourite pink wafer biscuits … then two bottles of strawberry milkshake and some straws.
Mum and Dad had already left for work and Tiffany had just gone to meet Monique, so now we had the house to ourselves.
“Don’t tell your mum I brought naughty treats. She wouldn’t approve,” winked Gran. “I know these milkshakes aren’t as good as the ones Mo makes, but the colour matches the pink biscuits perfectly, don’t you think?”
“Oh, Gran,” I said. “Haven’t you heard? has been closed down … by a health and safety inspector. They’re going to take away Mo’s licence.”
“I read something about that in the paper,” said Gran, squinting at the front page. “But I thought it must be a mistake. You know how the newspapers love to exaggerate and make things up.”
Gran rummaged in her handbag and pulled out a gold glasses case. She slipped a pair of small round spectacles on to the end of her nose. “There we are,” she said, pointing to an article just below the picture of me and Stella Lightfoot.
FUTURE FOR DANGEROUS CAFÉ, it said. UDDERLY PERFECT CLOSED AFTER SHAMEFUL SLIP!
“It says something about knocking the café down and building a multi-storey car park,” said Gran, running her finger down the page. “They’re going to start work by the end of the month. That’s outrageous.”
“And so soon,” I groaned. “They can’t do that, can they?” I told Gran all about what had happened with Mr Zeal, the horrible inspector.
“Oh dear,” said Gran. “All because you tipped over a milkshake when you shrank?”
“Exactly,” I sighed. “So I have to do something to help.”
“Hmm,” said Gran, taking off her glasses and chewing the end of them thoughtfully. “I still don’t understand how you wound up dressed as a mermaid?”
I explained how I had fallen out of Nisha’s pocket and become Rosie’s toy princess.
Gran laughed so much that down her cheeks.
But she cheered up when I told her how I’d thundered down the stairs inside the Russian doll. “Magnificent! No one else in the whole world has ever had a ride like it. Think of that.”
I’d just got to the part about driving the mini beach buggy when the doorbell rang.
“Run and answer that,” said Gran. “It’ll be the taxi. I ordered one to take us to the hairdresser.”
“No problem,” I said. It was another hot day and as I opened the door, I squinted into the sunshine. It wasn’t a taxi waiting outside … it was a long white
I stared at the limousine parked in front of our house (at least, its bonnet was parked in front of our house … the rest of the car was so long, it was parked in front of next door too).
“Good morning, miss,” said the driver. It was the same man who had driven the limo for Stella Lightfoot yesterday. He over to the side of the car and opened the door as if he was expecting someone to step in … or out!
Stella Lightfoot, I thought. My heart was pounding as sunlight bounced off the dark windows. But it couldn’t be. Why would Stella Lightfoot be coming to visit me?
Unless… My heart was thumping so hard now I was scared I would shrink from excitement. Unless she had seen the picture of us together on the news. Now she wanted to find out more about what I’d been saying … about the hedgehogs, perhaps?
“Hum,” the driver coughed sharply. He was still holding the door. “Aren’t you going to get in?”
“Me? Get in?” I peered into the dark limo. “But – but … I don’t understand?”
“ ” cried Gran. She bustled on to the doorstep beside me, clutching her stripy bag. “I told you I’d ordered a taxi.”
“‘But this isn’t a taxi,” I said. “It’s a—”
“A limousine. I know. Isn’t it wonderful?” Gran’s eyes “I got the idea when I saw Stella Lightfoot driving away at the end of the newsflash. I called Swanchester Limos and hired one for us. I thought it would be fun. You’re famous now you’ve been on telly, Violet. You have to travel in style.” Gran clapped her hands.
“You mean, you asked for a limousine just to take us to the hairdresser?” I stammered, struggling to make sense of everything. The limo was empty. The driver wasn’t bringing Stella Lightfoot here – he was collecting me … as a treat. This was – even for Gran.
“It�
��s so totally glamorous!” I said, throwing my arms around her neck.
“Hum.” The driver cleared his throat louder than ever. “I’m afraid we do need to get going. I have a very important client after you.”
As Gran and I through town in the long white limousine, I imagined I was as famous as Stella Lightfoot. It even helped take my mind off Mo and the café for a while.
Gran poured us each a lemonade from the minibar. She held out her new mobile phone and took a picture of us clinking our glasses as if they were champagne.
“It’s not just your dad who’s good with technology,” she chuckled.
Gran showed me the photo. She had completely cut off the top of our heads. But it didn’t matter. You could still see we were from ear to ear.
“I think I need my specs,” said Gran, peering at the screen.
“I’ll get them,” I said.
Gran’s handbag was lying on its side and I could see that her gold glasses case had slid along the floor of the limo.
“Here,” I said, and passing it up to her.
“It’s empty,” groaned Gran. “I must have left my specs on your kitchen table when I was reading the newspaper.”
“Hold on,” I said. “There’s something else here.”
I pulled on the corner of a little zip-up bag poking out from under the minibar. My hands were shaking as I held it up.
“That’s not mine,” said Gran. “Looks like a make-up bag.”
“But it’s purple-and-black ,” I cried, rattling the bag under Gran’s nose.
“I can see what colour it is, Violet,” Gran laughed. “My eyesight may be bad but I’m not blind yet!”
“You don’t understand,” I said, bouncing on the seat. “This is Stella Lightfoot’s. I am sure of it. All her clothes are purple-and-black . I bet she dropped the bag when she was in the limo yesterday.”
I tugged at the zip. “I’ll have a look inside.”
“I’m not sure you should,” Gran frowned. “It might be private.”
But it was too late. I’d opened it already.
“Go on then. Just a quick peep,” said Gran. “There might be something with a name on it. Though I expect it is only make-up.”